


It's not much (but it's ours)

by beekeepercain



Series: In Fewer Words [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking, Cuddling, Fluff, M/M, Mornings, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-13
Updated: 2013-07-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 08:07:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/881461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It was the typical, cross all the boxes kind of a morning.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's not much (but it's ours)

**Author's Note:**

> If you pray hard enough, do you think an angel will appear and serve you breakfast?

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Mornings. Freaking mornings, man.  
The taste of sleep in his mouth (and don’t you  _dare_  open it), the feel of his hair sticking right about in every direction, the pressure of it, the weight of his limbs, the funny feeling all about that was so hard to describe; it was such a typical, cross all the boxes kind of a morning that it seemed almost ridiculous.

Dean let out a soft sound and turned, his arm sliding off his side and onto the bed, limp and relaxed. His eyes watched the ceiling he’d seen a million times before, but not quite, not really. Perhaps just a few hundred so far. It just felt so familiar that he knew to look for certain circles in the dull pattern of it. The whole thing was like a map, a map of icy wasteland, full of bumps and speckles that represented nothing of particular interest.  
In his nose, he could feel the scent of breakfast being prepared in the other room. It was damn thick, the scent - there wasn’t much space for it to go in their small apartment, after all. That was the best they could afford for now, but it was really  _theirs_ , at least in the sense that it was paid with  _their_  money, cash they’d worked for. Funnily enough.  
With another grunt, Dean pulled himself up. His feet hit the floor with a thud and he stretched, feeling a little stiff from his neck. He drew circles in the air with his feet to get his ankles moving, and then he stood up. The window radiated cool air onto his naked upper body when he reached to open the smaller one from top. It made enough noise to alert the cook in his kitchen, sure enough, but Dean wanted the smell of sleeping people out of the room as soon as possible. Warm spring air flooded in, wrapped him inside its embrace.

His feet felt about the same temperature as the floor he walked on when he crossed the bedroom and entered the corridor, then the living room and then the kitchen. Castiel was leaning to the counter next to the stove, a wooden spatula in one hand and the other relaxedly stationed on the counter. He had a crooked smile on his face and his head was slightly tilted to the side in a greeting, and he looked happy - freshly washed, too, and his light blue grey pyjama pants were hanging so loose that the pair of boxers he wore underneath were showing. Dean smiled, but a yawn broke that soon enough. Still rather laggily he reached the other male, wrapped his arms around his waist and leaned his head onto the older’s bare chest, closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of the pancakes still cooking on the pan.

"Morning, Cas."

"Good morning to you as well, Dean."


End file.
